


Of the People Who Matter

by tiggeryumyum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiggeryumyum/pseuds/tiggeryumyum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a brief period, late in winter between their first and second year of training, when at least half the boys in the 104th Trainee Squad have a crush on Jean.</p><p>It's kind of the worst winter in Marco's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jean's voice is going to sound a little weird here, maybe. I picture him as a very late bloomer in a sexual sense, and this is set when he's around 12, so he's pretty immature. I mean they all are but I think the fact that we only ever see Jean with his 15 year old character design makes it extra weird to think of how young he was when we first meet him, and he meets Eren and Mikasa! I also picture Marco as very mature for his age, so it's a little wonky for them at this stage! 
> 
> Anyway there's no sexual things happening between the characters themselves in this story, just reading purplely-prose porn.

There's a brief period, late in winter between their first and second year of training, when at least half the boys in the 104th Trainee Squad have a crush on Jean.

It's kind of the worst winter in Marco's life.

" _Blonde hair spilled down the creamy white skin of her slender, curvy back like a waterfall. The Countess gasped, her voice high and quivering like a blue bird on a bright spring morning,_ " Thomas reads, a bit awkward, but gamely. " _'Oh! Harold!'_ " There he pitches his voice up to ridiculous soprano, and there's a few self conscious snickers, but the boys are overwhelmingly, and pretty comically, entranced by the story of Countess Beatrice, her moist womanhood, and Harold the wild man's thick, throbbing shaft.

They've been passing the book around each night since Connie found it, taking turns reading it out loud. There's not much else to do in a winter this bitterly cold. Marco's heard next year they'll be going through endurance training at this time, but for now they just have short practices, short days, and a lot of free time their bunks, with very little to distract the boys from their newest obsession. 

Marco's not really sure how or why this arrangement came to be, the rest of the boys in their troop seem to alternate between hissing, strict need for privacy when it comes to their budding sexualities, and boasting over-sharing. This actually seems to be some kind of bonding experience for the group, he thinks. Maybe if he was younger, trying to belong and impress the rest, he'd be into it – he notices of the younger group, only Armin has refrained, while Bert and Reiner, like Marco, are older and seem to find the entire thing pretty awkward. He kind of wishes they'd find elsewhere to do their dramatic readings. 

It's Jean's turn. 

Marco can already feel himself blush. He pulls his blanket over his head in preparation. 

"Okay – okay," Jean clears his throat, and Marco can clearly picture his face. He's trying to sound cool, but the excitement is still obvious in his voice. " _The large, masculine hand gripped the soft, sensitive skin of her bosom. Her nipples, pink as gentle as a winter rose bud, peaked when Harold's thumb rolled over the sweet spots._ "

And this is it. This is where it all changed. Because instead of pitching his voice up high and comical, like a joke, like every other reader had done up to this point, Jean actually makes his voice breathier, a little lower, even.

" _'Please! Oh, it's too much! Don't torture me!'_ " Jean says.

Marco yanks the blankets down, and stares at the ceiling, wide eyed. He can feel his blush intensifying, and feel the sudden, charged atmosphere of the room as about thirty horny boys lean that much closer to Jean. 

It's... the sexiest sound Marco has ever heard. Easily, no comparison, but then again the only thing in that race is his own stilted moans and the wet sound of his hand rubbing against his dick… something he really shouldn't be thinking of, just now. 

" _Two thick fingers pushed inside Beatrice's waiting sex, and she made the most glorious sounds of pleasure._ " Jean clears his throat. Marco tenses in anticipation of hearing that sex voice again, and is not disappointed. " _'Oh! I've never felt anything like this before!'_ "

Marco has to sit up, now, unable to believe this. He glances over to see Bert and Reiner in their own bunk - they share a startled look from across the room, before staring down at the scene. Even Armin is glancing over his shoulder.

Jean is there, legs crossed pointedly (like most of the boys) holding the book with one hand as he reads, the other tracing along the page to keep his spot. Jean is definitely taking this seriously, not a hint of a smile on his face, eyes focused on the page. The rest of them are staring, so wholly fixated on Jean, Marco's pretty sure a titan could rip open the roof of their barracks and they wouldn't notice until the thing was gnawing on them. 

" _His throbbing, thick member slid into Beatrice before she could stop him. 'Oh, no, Harold – '_ "

"Wait, I thought she was into it?" Connie asks.

" _SHHHH!_ " Literally all of them hiss, one of them smacks Connie upside the head with a pillow.

Jean shrugs, flipping the page back and forth. "Maybe she got cold feet – "

"Just keep going," Eren says, impatiently, watching with bright, intense eyes. 

"Don't tell me what to do – "

" _Please?_ Jean?" says Thomas, derailing the fight before it can begin. 

"… Fine. _Before Beatrice could stop him..._ " Here Jean takes a beat to fully shed the annoyance from his voice. " _'Oh, no, Harold, it's simply too much! You're far, **far** too large! Please be gentle, please go slow – oh, what is this pleasure traveling through my body like a tortuous wave?' Harold wrapped his large, muscled arms around her tiny middle and lifted her effortlessly against his muscled chest. 'The pleasure is because you are mine, Countess.'_ "

The male voice is kind of disappointing in comparison, just his usual voice, the voice he used for the narrative. But that sex voice… the female voice… Marco drops back against his bed, head spinning. 

It goes on like that, and when the chapter's done, it's time to pass the book on to the next reader, there's obvious disappointment in the group. Jean seems proud of himself for this when he climbs into bed that night, though Marco doesn't think he's fully thought through the implications.

Marco's been in love with Jean for a while, now. 

He knows it's love because sometimes it actually kind of annoys him, but the feelings are there just the same, just as strong. It's comforting in a way, being absolutely sure about life itself, the world, the universe, and his place in it, but at the same time helpless, exposed and a little idiotic. 

Meanwhile Jean obliviously continues on his with his life: sleeping on his back, kicking off his blankets and drooling in his peaceful, untroubled sleep. He grabs for Marco's blankets in the middle of the night like he always does once getting cold again, and of course Marco allows it, it's warmer anyway with two. Jean is like no one Marco's ever met before, equally charming as he is ridiculous. He'll brag about what he had for breakfast if you give him the chance, and he still watches Mikasa with a pink cheeked, hopeful expression, and Marco knows this ridiculous boy is going to be the thing he orbits around the rest of his life, if he's _lucky_. It's horrifying. 

And it's more horrifying to realize he's got competition. 

"Hey Jean, I grabbed an extra apple. You want it?"

"Oh. Thanks," Jean says, grabbing it from Thomas's tray, taking a bite without giving him a second look.

Thomas seems a little disappointed, but continues on to his table. Marco watches him go, and Jean takes another loud, unthinking bite. Jean is observant, though, and Marco knows it's not going to take him long to realize something's going on. He doesn't know what the fall out will be, then. Furious humiliation? Indifference? Flattery? Actual _interest_ in one of the other boys? Marco's not looking forward to it, regardless. 

They have only two short sessions out in the field, where Nac immediately gives Jean an awkward compliment about his endurance.

"… We've been jogging less than a minute," Jean says.

"But I bet you could go way longer," Nac says, going pink.

"Alright. Thanks," Jean says, then shares a _this guy...?_ look with Marco. Marco shrugs like he also has no idea what is going on.

"If you're hungry you can go ahead of me in line," Mylius offers at dinner, and Jean does, bringing Marco along with him, not even pausing in his conversation. Hilariously (?) he hasn't thought to question the attention yet, and Marco almost feels bad for Mylius's fallen face.

They are young, many of the boys, younger than their years in a lot of ways, coming from very safe, sheltered little villages. They don't know what they want from Jean, don't fully understand why this is catching their interest. They hover around him with the confused energy of a bug, the kind that fly closer and closer to a fire until they burn off their own wings.

Some of the boys are more experienced, and have a pointed, specific questions in their eyes, in their evaluation of Jean's body. Critical, considering. Maybe, they're saying to themselves, as they look at the slight curve of Jean's ass. Trying to match the level of desire they feel with the reality. 

Marco thinks most of them are probably straight. Jean's impression of a woman with an exceptionally husky voice in the throes of orgasm is on point, but though Jean's body is generally pleasing – healthy, young, slender – he doubts they'll find the entirety of what they're really looking for there. The novelty will wear off. He just has to be patient, just has to shove Thomas back a step when he seems to literally forget Marco is even there when trying to ask Jean if he'd like his pudding. Jean takes it and passes it off to Mikasa.

~

The chill sets in early, and they're sent to study, then to bed, where Connie pulls out that awful book. 

"I think we should have Jean read again," Marco hears Samuel suggest. Of course. 

This is when Marco discovers a huge, gaping weakness in Jean's observational skills. He so enjoys being the center of attention of his peers, so enjoys belonging and being seen, having them listen to what he has to say, that he does not seem to notice anything worth questioning about the request.

Jean's voice becomes the norm for their bunk, night after night, and even Reiner seems to be paying attention now, smirking at especially embarrassing lines.

" _'You've filled me so deeply! I could never love another! No one could ever touch so deep inside of me like you have, Harold!'_ "

" _'I'm devoted to you, only to you, Harold. Each night I dream of your thick, ardent man-ness until my womanhood trembles.'_ " 

" _'Each hour apart is too much to bear. Please don't make me wait much longer to feel the exquisite pleasure of your masculine strength.'_ "

If Marco wanted, he could probably see himself done to this, to the sound of Jean's ridiculously sexual voice saying these ridiculous promises of love and lust. He sometimes finds himself half hard before the end of 104's erotic bedtime story, now, but it's something he learned to ignore a long time ago, sharing a room with three younger siblings, and it's frustrating. 

"Already asleep?" Jean asks when he climbs into bed one night, actually flushed from the reading, and the resulting attention. 

"Nah," Marco says.

"Listening in?" Jean says. He gives a knowing, almost inviting smile. 

Of course Jean has figured out what is happening in a general sense, but it's easy to forget, Jean is one of the young ones, too. Still learning himself, not entirely sure of what he even wants from Mikasa, really, let alone what the rest of the them want from him. Though he's smiling in a very suggestive way, Marco knows he's not really flirting. He's testing the waters, to see if his new found power extends to Marco. It does, but Jean won't be able to see a difference because it _always_ has. 

Marco sighs and shakes his head, rolling onto his side, showing his back to Jean. "I'll just be glad when it's over. How many chapters are left anyway?"

"A few," Jean says, considering Marco carefully. "Do you think it's stupid?"

Marco stares over his shoulder. He could end it here, he realizes. Easily, he could even be nice about it. _Not stupid, no, just a little young for me? But it's been so boring lately it's good you guys have something to do_ – it would send Jean into immediate, blustering agreements, talking about how stupid, waste of time, just doing it to humor the others … but no. Though frustrated, he would never want to put Jean through that, make him feel insecure because of _Marco's_ jealousy. 

"Just not my thing," Marco says, turning onto his back so Jean will feel less cut off. He sighs, feeling tired. 

He misses when he was the only one who looked at Jean. At least the rest of them still don't seem to be seeing him, not _really_. He worries that it will change, though, that Jean will slip – like now, Jean is still worried about this perceived distance between him and Marco and wants to mend it, and he is being sweet and cautious, asking about Marco's day, listening with exaggerated focus. 

He worries that one of them will see Jean like this, and _actually_ want him. 

~

All good things must come to an end, and indeed, eventually the story of Beatrice and Harold's sticky, quivering affair came to its climatic conclusion, quite literally. Marco could not be happier, feeling greedy and happy to finally have Jean back. 

He knows the attention of the other boys will linger for a while, but soon they'll be distracted, soon people with the actual curves and voices they're looking for will start giving them attention. Winter is almost over, it's no longer painfully, numbingly cold out, and soon they'll be expected to continue their regular training. Things will get back to normal. 

Unfortunately, that's when Connie discovers the sequel. 

"They're stranded in the mountains this time," Connie says, passing around the book. "They find a cabin and – you know."

Marco knows. 

He's not sure what his expression did when Connie pulls it out at dinner, but Jean definitely notices it. In an unusual display of tact, Jean waits until they're the only ones awake in the barracks to confront him, voice quiet, even. 

"I knew it. You've been acting weird," Jean says.

" _Me?_ " Marco says. "Out of – everyone else in this room, _I'm_ the one acting weird?"

"They're whatever," Jean says with a dismissive nod toward the room and maybe even the world at large. He's focused on _Marco_. "You've been quiet. It's because of the book," Jean says, narrowing in on it, scooting closer, getting in Marco's face like he always does when he's confident he's right. "What is it, Marco? You don't like it? Or you like it too much?"

Marco huffs out a laugh. "It's not the book."

"But it's something. What is it?" 

Marco sighs and looks at the ceiling, the only thing in his eye line that's not Jean's face. 

"You don't want to hear it, Jean."

That makes Jean pause. "What is it?" Jean asks, actually sounding a little nervous. 

Marco sighs and can't bring himself to look Jean in the eye as he says it. 

"I don't like how everyone is reacting to it.".

"Oh. Yeah," Jean says, relieved, shrugging one shoulder. "They're morons. Just ignore them."

Alright. Marco can be more blatant. "You like Mikasa, right?" 

There it goes. Marco watches the dominoes tip and fall behind Jean's eyes, reaching the immediate conclusion. He doesn't have to keep going, Jean's obviously figured it out, but he does anyway. 

"It annoys you when Eren gives her attention, right?"

"Eren doesn't give her attention," Jean says, derailed from the point, a knee jerk reaction. "Asshole doesn't even realize how lucky he is." 

Marco sighs, closing his eyes.

"Right – uh," Jean says, and climbs onto his knees. "It's okay, you can like me like that, I'm okay with it."

"Thanks," Marco says, flatly. This really isn't how he imagined this going. He glares up at the ceiling. 

"I'm probably going get with Mikasa," Jean says, seriously. "But if that doesn't happen, I'm not going to like anyone else, so."

"So?"

"So... we can get together." 

"How kind of you."

"I'm serious," Jean says.

Marco stares at him. This can't be real. "That's... not how it works, Jean."

"It makes sense," Jean says, annoyed, holding up two fingers. He ticks one down. "If there's not Mikasa, there's just you."

Marco looks at the finger that represents him, _just him._

Maybe for all Marco thinks he understands, he doesn't really know what he wants or expects from Jean, either. He thinks about what Jean is offering, and what he's really capable of giving, right now, and looks at his stubborn, frowning face. For him, it apparently is that simple, right now. 

Marco smiles, and hooks his finger around the one Jean's still got pointing up. 

"Alright. It's a deal," Marco says. Jean smiles back – problem solved. He has an easy, untroubled sleep, like always, grabbing for Marco's blanket, like always, and the next day turns down the requests to read _Love Will Keep Us Warm_ , which they protest and pester about until someone has the bright idea to suggest Armin as a substitute. 

Marco and Jean spend the next week listening in to poor, stuttering Armin from their bunk, because there really is nothing better to do, and it's actually not that bad with Jean up here, beside him.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes Jean a while to catch up with Marco, but eventually it does happen.

Jean's first impression of Marco Bott is that he's a little stupid.

Not _bad_ , just one of those kids who clings to the rules, sometimes a tattle tale, fastening themselves to the closest authority figure cause they don't bother to think for themselves – just generally unimpressive and boring. 

It doesn't take him long to figure out how wrong this is. 

On their first free day in training, the boy's cabin makes a group decision to explore the surrounding forest – Eren, Connie, Thomas, Reiner, Marco, everyone. 

They discover a river about fifteen minutes from the barracks, and in this hot weather the only logical thing to do is roll up their pants and jump in. As they wade through the water, feet sinking into the mud, hollering in surprise and glee when they feel fish brushing against their legs – they decide to try to catch one, but only Reiner even gets close – the subject of where they'll be in the next three years comes up, what they'll be doing after they graduate. 

"I'm gonna be in the inner district for sure!" says Connie, his short legs keeping him wading near the shore. "I'm gonna work in the MP and move my mom to the interior, too."

"So what about you, Marco?" Jean asks, mostly to tease – Jean already knows what he'll say, like, _offering his heart to the king, becoming a modern knight, and so on,_ or whatever else Marco thinks living in the interior will be like – 

"There's about a hundred recruits in our squad," Marco says, instead. "So I'll have to outperform at least ninety cadets to get into the Military Police… that's honestly a pretty small chance. If I get lucky, I'll be with the police. If not, the Garrison, maybe. But we have a while to think about it!"

Marco smiles. 

"… Yeah," Jean says, staring in surprise. Everyone else keeps talking, it's really not that remarkable of an answer. Jean hadn't thought of it like that, though, not really, not in those terms, not in specific numbers. Jean likes how it sounds, too, mature and realistic. It's nothing like the blindly, timidly optimistic boy Jean assumed Marco to be. 

He pays close attention to Marco after that. He finds him fascinating. The combination of kindness, patience and goodwill is something Jean simply does not associate with intelligence; the only people who were really ever that nice to Jean as a kid were kind of too dumb to know any better. It's made him suspicious of it in general. 

But Marco is smart, and perceptive, and he never tries to put on any kind of attitude to be impressive, which makes Jean aware how often he tries it himself. Still, Marco is patient with this. He's honest, too, and insightful, and he actually seems to like Jean. He kind of glows with his goodness. This makes Jean greedy, getting closer and closer with him, walking with him between classes and training, eventually even keeping Marco up late at night with conversations that seem like they could go on and on, before finally crawling off to his own bed – beside Daz, who has gas that smells like rotting vegetables. 

He'd rather stay talking to Marco. 

"You don't have a bunkmate, right?" Jean asks, one night, nervous to do it. As a child, Jean had desperately wanted friends. It had never quite worked out like he hoped, like he saw with other kids, and Jean has gotten good at pulling away defensively at the first sign of disinterest. 

Marco's opinion matters, though, it matters a lot, he's already gotten to a point where he can't pretend otherwise. His feelings will be hurt if Marco doesn't want to be bunkmates. 

"Hey, you should move up here!" Marco suggests, immediately, sitting up as he does. "The top bunks are warmer and more private – we can talk more, too!"

Jean is already scrambling down the ladder for his blankets and belongings, not bothering to apologize when he accidentally nails sleeping Daz with his elbow.

Jean doesn't have to ask – he knows this means he and Marco are best friends, that Marco likes him, too. 

~ 

A few months later Connie finds a book. There's porn in it. 

There's such a fight over who gets it first they decide the fairest thing is to read it as a group, and Jean realizes how wrong he was about their cabin eventually splitting up, because this actually feels like a natural decision, in fact it feels odd that a few boys don't join them, deciding to lay in their bunks for an early night whenever they pull out the book. Mostly the older boys, and Marco is one of them. 

This is the first real distance between Jean and him, but maybe it isn't too strange. 

Sex is private and Marco is the kind of person who would want to keep it that way, special and secret. For some reason the thought makes Jean blush, Marco's _special and secret_ sex, when he glances up and sees just the barest hint of Marco's body, still under the covers, waiting for them to finish.

Some of the very first classes they had with the instructors were about sex and anatomy, but they were dry and unappealing as possible, using long, scientific names for body parts, labeled on oddly sexless drawings that remind Jean of titans more than people. Sex is still a mysterious unknown to Jean, he didn't learn anything from those lessons except that diseases and babies can be transferred between crotches if they don't use protection. 

This book is closer to what he imagines – exciting and loud. It talks about pleasure and _orgasms_ , it talks about what girls have between their legs, and exactly how the piece between Jean's is supposed to fit in there. Jean finds himself thinking about it all day long, fixating on certain elements, jumbling them together with more private thoughts. 

He does try to think of Mikasa, sometimes, but gets too flustered, even in his own mind. He prefers to think of her when she's dressed and in practice, how well she uses to OMD, how the light shines off her hair, the hypnotic darkness of her eyes. If he's honest he can't quite imagine kissing, the thought of touching – holding her hand – is enough to get him blushing. Let alone how the two characters rub against each other in the book. 

When it's Jean's turn to read, he decides to do the best female voice he can think of: Mikasa, who doesn't sound screechy and ridiculous, but calm and composed. 

Things get weird a little after that. The rest of the boys like the voice, a lot. 

Honestly Jean's time in training has been some of the most successful in his life, friend-wise, even he and Eren have moments of peace between them when they have to. 

But this is something else entirely, suddenly he's the first sought out when he enters a room, people listen to him, give him things – it's amazing, Jean can't get enough of it, basking in the attention, until he notices the strange underscore to their stares, like they're waiting for Jean to pull something out of himself, something to satisfy the intense craving in their eyes.

He'd like to talk to Marco about it, but the weirdness has extended to him, too.

"Want some?" Jean says, holding out a bag of candy, honey dipped in sugar, for Marco to sample. "It's from Mylius."

Marco looks at Jean's face, then his extended hand. 

Jean waits for him to say something about this – Marco would, and he has to have noticed this strangeness taking over the barracks. But he just takes a piece.

"Thanks," Marco says, and lays back down.

Jean feels it like an awful cold jab to his gut, but tries to ignore it. They sit in an odd, awkward silence.

"It's good," Marco eventually says, sucking on it. 

"Yeah!" Jean says, jumping on the opening with enthusiasm, then realizes he doesn't really have anything to follow it up with. Marco smiles at him, kindly, but doesn't say anything else, and Jean feels the distance grow.

Marco is a very open person, or he was, with Jean, but he can feel the words Marco's not saying, the stuff he's keeping inside - he can feel Marco hiding a part of himself, closing off, and doesn't like it, at all.

The candy is sticky, melting quickly, and Jean has to climb back down to wash his hands before bed. 

~

In the next few days he tries teasing Marco about it, but that just makes it worse. He's sure it's the book, it has to be, and this is confirmed when he sees Marco's face – like he'd just seen a spider crawl across the table – when Connie pulls out the sequel.

Jean _knew it_.

Marco is strangely evasive about it when Jean finally calls him out about it that night, avoiding Jean's stare, looking like he wants to disappear into his pillow. Very unlike Marco. 

"I don't like how everyone is reacting to it," Marco finally mutters. 

"Oh," Jean says. That makes sense – in fact, it was obvious! Jean thinks he would be jealous, too, if all the boys in the cabin were suddenly flocking after Marco's attention, even if Marco was turning it down. But Marco is obviously Jean's closest friend, and means the most to Jean, it doesn't matter how many candies or apples he gets. "Yeah. They're morons. Just ignore them."

Marco seems frustrated by this response, looking pointedly away from Jean, now, up at the ceiling. 

"You like Mikasa, right?" 

Jean blinks at that… processing it. For Marco, Jean is Mikasa…? 

"It annoys you when Eren gives her attention, right?"

"Eren doesn't give her attention," Jean says without thinking, an immediate swell of annoyance. "Asshole doesn't even realize how lucky he is."

Marco closes his eyes and sighs, heavily. The silence stretches as Jean scrambles, trying to see the situation from this new angle, but Marco is closing his eyes tighter, like he's annoyed, and Jean hurries to his knees, wanting to fix this – 

"Right – uh – it's okay, you can like me like that, I'm okay with it," Jean says. It's true, he doesn't mind at all. He's not sure he sees Marco that way, but the truth is, he doesn't even see himself that way. 

Jean doesn't and can't really see himself in that scene, in that bed, in that passionate embrace. Not today and maybe not even years from now. He's not moaning. writhing Beatrice, or even powerful, feral Harold. It's exciting, but also entirely foreign. The difference between eating a meal and being expected to prepare it. Maybe there are other books out there that would feel less strange to him, in-between the extremes of the dry anatomy books and those passionate, moaning creatures, but Jean hasn't read them yet. 

But if there _are_ , Marco is honestly the only person he can remotely imagine feeling comfortable with in such a position. Even picturing Mikasa is sort of vague and ill-defined, and he feels queasy with nerves – but he trusts Marco, and the idea is less intimidating as a whole if he pictures him there, too.

Marco is basically the only person that matters, and that night they fall asleep like they usually do, and Marco smiles at him like he did before, and everything goes back to normal.

~

Months and months later, there's a new training course that they're expected to take individually, and they're getting graded on their first pass through, how well they can adapt to surprises. 

"It's tough," Jean collapses beside Marco in the field, exhausted beyond belief. His arms are shaking, overworked and fingers numb. Marco's turn should be up soon, if not next. "You're going to end up dulling your blade at the first two titans if you aren't careful, and the second half is full of those hard trees – you'll have to go to the higher branches to sink your hooks into anything decent. I almost fell."

"Yeah?" Marco asks, raising an eyebrow in encouragement. "You completed it, though?"

"Yes – okay," Jean says, and feels himself swelling with boastful pride like he always does when Marco is listening very closely to what he says. He sits up straight, talking with his hands as he goes into specific detail, describing for Marco how he approached each challenge, how he maneuvered through it – which they are not supposed to do, and giving him the locations of various titans, which he is _definitely_ not supposed to do. He shuts his mouth when Shadis approaches, probably to collect Marco for his turn.

"Nice work, Bott," Shadis says, with a nod, and keeps going.

… 

Jean feels his face heating. 

"You already did it," Jean says. And did _well_ , apparently. "Why did you let me go on like that – "

"I liked hearing it," Marco says, shrugging like this is no big deal. "You were excited. It was – cute."

Jean doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't know if it's good or bad. He doesn't know what this feeling is, that Marco inspires in him – Jean likes to see himself as smart, capable, and aloof, but sometimes, with Marco, it feels like it's not the _worst_ thing to make a fool of himself, as long as it's Marco, who would never hold it against him. If anyone else had let Jean go on like that because they thought it was _cute_ , he would've stormed off in flustered embarrassment, but – but it's Marco.

"Whatever," Jean says, instead, dropping his face into his arms, hiding his smile when Marco bumps their shoulders together.

~

The last year of training is truly savage.

At every point in the process – recruiting, receiving their uniforms, riding up to the training camp – they were told, in no uncertain terms, there would be deaths. 

Shadis calls them together for one last warning. He tells them they usually lose at least one cadet in this last year; falling to their death in OMD training, freezing in the mountains, losing balance and trampled by the horses. Shadis tells them the instructors have been watching out for them, but now they're going to be treated like actual soldiers, and taking on all the risks this entails. 

It's sobering, but Jean knows it's not a warning for him. It's for cadets like Daz, like Armin – _especially_ like Armin, smart, with something to contribute, but not here, in this place, too weak and timid for the amount of risk he's putting himself in. Jean watches him through the entire speech, wondering if it'll finally give him the courage to stray from Eren's suicidal path, make one of his own.

It does not even occur to Jean to be worried for Marco, until Ymir drags Daz's corpse back to camp. 

"What happened??" Armin asks, rushing forward to help while the rest of them stare.

"He couldn't handle it," Ymir says, pulling Daz's body – which is not dead like Jean thought, just paler than he's ever seen, still and cold, so she's taking him to the medics.

"Where's Krista??" Armin asks, holding open the door for her.

"On her way. Wanted to save this idiot, almost killed herself trying," Ymir says. She's obvious exhausted as well, and Jean can't believe how much _Daz_ managed to hold back two very serious contenders for the top 10. All three of them could've been lost up there. 

Marco's going into the mountains next week, and he's going with some low scoring no name, and _Armin_.

The thought is outrageous, it's as though Shadis was trying to get Marco to fail. 

"Don't carry them," Jean says. 

He and Marco stand alone, just outside the dining hall, in the softly falling snow. The last meal before Jean heads off into the mountain for his own exercise. Marco will be leaving a few days after that, and if Marco attempts to strap both his teammates on his own back to carry them down the mountain himself, this will be the last time they see each other, ever. He will freeze solid in the effort, his body icing over until summer, because no one is going to be there to drag it back to camp. 

"Jean," Marco sighs.

Jean grabs Marco's gloved hand, hooking their fingers together like Marco did, over a year ago. 

Marco blinks down in surprise at their joined hands. Jean knows he's being manipulative, kind of. He knows what this means. He hasn't thought about Marco in _that way_ , really, not in anything so specific and intense, not in the way Marco said he thinks about Jean – but if Marco doesn't come down from the mountain, Jean might lose his mind. He'll pull out all the stops to make sure that doesn't happen, he'll play dirty.

"Please."

Marco is strong enough to make it on his own if he has to, he's good enough to make it, and he's just – just _good_ , he's just rotten with his goodness. Marco's smart, and he's the best of them, really, the best person Jean's met. Losing him here – losing him now – 

"Jean," Marco says, and Jean realizes he's curled his finger so tight around Marco's that he's shaking. Marco's eyes are soft, in conflict. Good. Jean hopes he feels at least some of this. It wasn't supposed to turn into this, but Marco pulls him closer, into a hug, and Jean doesn't fight it. 

"Please come back."

"I'm not Krista, and Daz isn't Armin – "

"Armin can't even climb up the lookout post without losing his breath," Jean says, this is usually a fun, ribbing joke, but now it's a terrifying reality that could mean Marco's death.

"I'll play it safe," Marco says. "I'll pay attention. If it feels like they can't make it, I'll turn around, alright?"

"Right," Jean says. He can read Marco, he knows he's lying. They're nearing the end, and competition in this class is fierce. Calling it in the middle of the exercise could mean the difference between 10th and 11th place, and they both know it. Marco is usually conservative, thoughtful, cautious, but he wants to be in the MP with everything in him, a deep, devoted drive that burns with frankly scary intensity. Jean wants to make MP to be safe. Marco just _wants it_. 

"I'll make it back," Marco says. He puts his hands on Jean's shoulders, looks into his face and smiles. "Trust me, Jean."

Jean wants to, but he can't. 

Jean himself has been teamed with Reiner and Connie, which is like being paired with literally the mountain itself, and one of the most tenacious assholes he's ever had the pleasure to meet. He's almost looking forward to seeing how well they'll utterly crush this challenge, and he's right.

"Think we broke the record?" Connie is asking Reiner, shouting to be heard over the wind. 

"It takes four days, typically," Reiner says. "We've done it in two?"

"Wishful thinking. We're not making it down today," Jean says, glancing at the setting sun. They only have three more walking hours, and that's if they push it. They'll need to make camp one more night. 

"Two and a half, then!" 

"Sounds like a record to me!" Reiner says. 

The two of them are in great spirits, and Jean would be, too, if only he wasn't distracted. He knows Marco will be walking along the same path just days after them, and the thought makes him feel uniquely helpless to prevent any tragedy that might follow. 

Wind starts seriously picking up around sundown– Jean doesn't really notice, face numb to the cold, until he hears a series of worrying _snaps_ and _cracks_ coming from somewhere near the peak of the mountain.

None of them acknowledge it, but the cheery, celebratory atmosphere quiets and as the rumbling from the mountain top grows in intensity. They all know what it means; something at the top is about to fall down the side of the mountain, crushing anything it meets along the way. An avalanche. 

Setting up camp now is suicide, and all three of them know it, walking far longer than they ought to – each time Jean thinks of mentioning it, there's another troubling _smash_ from the top of the mountain, and he just keeps shouldering against the cold, moving forward.

Eventually Connie just stops. 

It's too cold to move. They have to set up camp. Jean catches up to Connie and stands there beside him. 

"Hey! We're not making it down today!" Jean shouts to Reiner, who kept going. It's dark, but Jean can make out Reiner's tall frame slowly turning, looking back at the two of them. Connie's head is ducked down against the wind, shoulders up, utterly tapped out. Jean could maybe make it another few kilometers, but it won't be pretty. 

Reiner could probably keep going until he made it back to the barracks, marching right through the coldest hours of the night. 

Jean closes his eyes and laughs quietly to himself, wondering if Bert gave him the same instructions Jean gave Marco. _Don't carry them._

Maybe not. Reiner turns around, picks Connie up, throws him over his shoulder, just like that, and they keep walking. 

"S-sorry, man," Connie apologizes into Reiner's back.

"We'll trade off when we reach the base of the cliff, and you can carry me," Reiner says, in this utterly deadpan way that would make Jean laugh, if only the air wasn't so cold it hurt to breathe. 

As they walk, Jean feels the chill set into his body, seeping into his flesh, reaching his bones. His body shakes in wild, desperate bursts, forcing him to pause until it finishes, doing its best to keep itself from shutting down. He wonders what would happen if it did, if Reiner would, or could, carry the both of them back.

They should've stopped. They should've set up camp. It's a risk either way but Jean can feel the numbness spreading up his legs. This is it – he can't go any further. 

"Oi, Reiner… " Jean starts to say, then stops. They both stop, they both stare up at the mountain. 

A rumble like thunder, louder than any they've heard so far, close, terrifying close, shakes the ground. They lock eyes for one terrified moment, then start running. 

Jean doesn't get far before he falls. His body reached its limit, blacking out, and he ends up face down in the snow. 

"Fuck," he says, trying to climb back up – a large, impossibly warm hand grabs his upper arm, hoisting him up, and he's being yanked along the ground, Reiner's dragging him. 

Jean does his best to help, moving his legs to keep up, but Reiner's going too fast. The rumbling is growing louder, the ground is shaking wildly, and Jean's not entirely sure when Reiner loses his grip, when the jerking in his body stops being from being dragged, and when the snow itself sweeps him away, smashing into him, sending him spiraling wildly, crashing against his body from all directions, tossing him around like a rag doll. 

He's actually quite calm.

He thinks about his mother and father in Trost, how the blood would drain from their faces if they could see how Jean's body is being thrown around in this snow. He thinks about Reiner and Connie, and Daz and Krista and Ymir, making it back to the barracks. He thinks about Shadis, talking about a promising recruit getting overconfident and swept away in an avalanche – the solemn reminder that they usually lose at least one cadet. 

He thinks about Marco. 

Fuck.

Fuck, he thinks about their fingers, locked together, and their bunk, and Marco's blanket, and Marco's delirious, slurred sleep-talk, when he's trying so hard to stay awake and listen and respond to Jean's questions, but he's just too tired to manage. Thinks about how very, very cold he is and how warm it always is beside him. He thinks about begging Marco to come back, and about how he hadn't been concerned for himself at all, really, and he wonders when that happened. 

It's quiet.

Jean blinks – he's submerged completely, but the snow shifts, falling away as soon as he lifts his head. He manages to free his shoulders and arms, but his movements are sluggish and clumsy. He doesn't get further than that. 

"Jean!" 

Reiner is pulling him free of the snow, Connie's hands are steadying at his waist. He's having a hard time keeping up. He realizes his jacket's been knocked loose, somewhere in the field of snow, when Reiner's hands land on his shoulders, wiping the snow from his arms. 

"We have to move," Reiner says. There's another warning rumble. Another wave is coming. It'll probably be bigger, judging by the sound. 

He has no idea how Reiner manages it – both he and Connie are useless, half frozen, their supplies are long gone, he doesn't even have a sled to drag them on. But he gets all three of them back to the training camp. 

They still break the record.

~

He has nightmares of the avalanche, only it's not Jean that was swept away, but Marco. 

In these dreams Jean is waist deep in snow, digging and searching, calling out to Marco but his voice makes no sound over the constant roar of the wind. He has barely any rest until, finally - 

"Marco?"

"Hey, Jean," Marco says. 

Jean is delirious with fever, and about sobs with relief when he sees Marco enter the room. He sits beside Jean's bed, saying something – words about how he's glad Jean is okay and everything is fine, but Jean isn't listening. He immediately starts grabbing for him, pulling him into the bed beside him, and not letting him leave.

It's how Marco's skin actually feels blessedly cool in comparison to his own, his hands running across Jean's face and it feels amazing, it makes him close his eyes and moan in relief – it makes him think of that book, of all things, the heat that was always supposed to be coming off Beatrice and Harold's passionate bodies. Marco's isn't like that, he likes the reality better: he likes the solidness of it, the smell of it, the feel of it. It's home and it's safe and he's so glad. 

He realizes he's repeating Marco's name, over and over, pressing it into his neck and shoulders, unable to get enough of how good he feels. 

It takes two more days for his fever to break, and he's a miserable slug for the following week. Marco brings him soup and bread, but stops using his hands to cool his face. 

He glares at Marco, sitting beside his bed. This is when it happens, the big epiphany, and it's sort of annoying, because Jean had wanted mystery, he wanted something new and different, but the reality is this. The reality is Marco, Marco's familiar hands and patience. And it is better, and it's something part of him knew all along, but not like _this._

"Marco," he says. 

"Yeah?"

Jean pauses. He can feel himself going pink, for the first time when it comes to Marco, not entirely sure what to say. 

"Nothing."

Marco is patient, as he has always, always been with Jean. He just nods.

~

If they lived in a different world, or if they were farmers instead of soldiers, or if Jean was a braver person, it would've been easy after that. But they don't, they're not, and he isn't, so it takes a little longer.

Two years pass between Jean realizing what this warm fascination with Marco actually means, and the moment he actually does anything about it. It's nothing monumental. 

It is a boring day of leave, free from even the ridiculous cleaning duties imposed by Captain Levi, and he meanders almost aimlessly through the nearest town, the shopping district he's visited countless times before. Jean knows the stalls, the vendors, knows where he'll actually end up eating and spending the day before heading back to the barracks. It's only been a few months but it's already become pretty routine.

"Jean!"

Marco is walking up the street, smiling with narrowed eyes because he's walking into the glare of the sun. 

Jean can't quite believe how quickly the boredom fades, replaced with _possibility_ , excitement, when he sees Marco's face. He almost does it without thinking, just, as soon as Marco catches up to him, he smiles, puts his hand on Marco's neck, and presses a kiss against the side of his mouth.

Marco is startled, taking a step back, looking in Jean's face proper, like he's double checking this is actually _Jean Kirstein_. Jean doesn't make his expression anything in particular; he feels like it's going to be a good day, he is happy to see Marco, to have a day off, to see where the day takes them, and he assumes this shows on his face. 

"Sorry I'm late," Marco says, after a lengthy pause.

"S'alright," Jean says.

Another pause, and Marco leans forward – cautiously, checking Jean's face until the very last moment and he can't anymore, because he's already closed his eyes instinctively. He kisses Jean, with more intent than the first peck, his hands drifting to rest on Jean's hips. Any stiffness or awkwardness fades quickly, and Jean feels himself melt a bit at the sudden, hungry moan Marco presses into his mouth, something that speaks of intense, powerful longing. 

They pull apart, because they're still in the middle of the street and making a bit of a spectacle of themselves. Jean licks his lips, and takes Marco's hand, and does everything he's done before – but better, because Marco's there.


End file.
